


Then, I Thought, the Air Grew Denser

by P_stellaviatori



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/P_stellaviatori/pseuds/P_stellaviatori
Summary: “You can’t be my first officer forever.” Or maybe what she really means is,I might not be around forever.Michael and Philippa spend some time together during a brief leave on Earth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is just full of tropes, ye be warned.

 —

 

In an old cabin enveloped by a dense mountain forest and veiled by a calm autumn fog, Michael sits across from Philippa at a wooden table, timeworn, yet sturdy, as they share a quiet breakfast together on a cool early morning.

Michael had observed Philippa make breakfast from fresh ingredients, a hearty porridge of wild oats and picked vegetables, commenting on how uncommon it was in the age of food synthesizers for one to possess the skill of cooking. Philippa had only smiled at the remark.

Light rain begins to fall, the patter of raindrops against the roof and windows softly filling in the silence.

“It’s quiet here,” Michael notes, her eyes idly scanning the small confines of the cabin likely built for two. Her gaze comes to a halt as she peers across and into the bedroom, but she pays little mind to the single bed in her view. Nearly done with her meal, Michael swipes a napkin across her lips.

“I thought you’d like it,” Philippa answers before taking in another spoonful. She’s known Michael long enough to know that she values solitude. Philippa often does as well.

Pouring Philippa another cup of tea, her head tilting with thoughtful consideration, Michael confirms, “I do, but it’s more isolated than I expected.”

Flashing a smile in thanks, Philippa sets down her bowl, reaching for the cup of tea and bringing it carefully to her lips. “Were you expecting a resort? Crowds of people and festive activities?” She quietly laughs, leaning back against her cushioned chair and crossing her legs. “This place was built for personal retreats, but it has all the basic amenities. I find it quite comfortable.”

“You’ve stayed here before?” Michael questions, standing from her seat and gathering up the finished bowls to take to the sink.

Philippa pauses for a moment, wondering how much she should say. “I have, when I was younger. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought you here.”

Michael begins washing, her back turned to Philippa. “Not at all.”

Glancing out the window, at a small bird perched in the distance, Philippa brings both hands around her hot teacup, and muses, “I like it here.” She looks back to Michael, a fondness in her eyes as she watches her. “Something about the quiet. Makes it easier to think.”

 

—

 

The morning rain has given way to an airy afternoon mist, faint to the touch and cool when Philippa draws in a deep breath. Afternoon light streams in through openings in the forest canopy, illuminating individual particles of fog like the twinkle of a transporter beam.

Philippa brings an arm over her brow, wiping clean the sweat that’s formed there. Despite the cool atmosphere, a lengthy hike up the mountain side has her stripping off her outer long-sleeve shirt and tying it around her waist. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to breathe in air like this,” Philippa pants, resting a hand against a sturdy tree trunk. “The recycled atmosphere on the Shenzhou just doesn’t compare.”

“Is that why every time I advise you against joining a landing party you ignore me?” Michael is several paces ahead of Philippa, and the rigorous trek has her perspiring through her thin shirt. She pauses her stride, turning around and glancing down at Philippa with an incredulous look, “For a bit of fresh air?”

A smirk forms on Philippa’s lips, her head slanting and eyes shifting with wry modesty, “You’re catching on to me, Michael. You keep this up and I won’t have any secrets left.”

“I’m sure you’ll still have plenty, Capt—” Michael catches herself mid-word, remembering that she’s not on an away mission, and certainly not on duty around her friend. ”—Philippa.”

Philippa lets out a small laugh, quickly recovering her vigor and pushing forward, taking long steps toward Michael’s position. A damp patch of leaves gives out under her footing, causing her to lose her ground and slip down the hill. She quickly reaches an arm out, hoping to grab something with which to steady herself, and then feels the gentle, but firm grip of Michael’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Michael’s voice is tinged with concern, her hold on Philippa’s hand steadfast as she helps her to her feet.

Releasing an exaggerated breath of relief, Philippa dusts herself off with her free hand, replying, “Yes, thank you.” Her eyes settle on their clasping hands, the danger over, yet Michael’s hand remains strong and unwavering in hers.

Looking up, Philippa catches Michael’s gaze, laden with a keen intensity, and curiously watches as Michael turns away her head, and drops her grip, promptly suggesting, “Let’s keep going.”

 

—

 

The fireplace crackles to life when Michael sets a lit match to the tinder. The cabin is well insulated against the dropping night temperature outside, but something about a roaring hearth reminds her of home, a place of safety.

Sitting back against the couch at the center of the room and opposite the fireplace, Michael begins to read an old book she’d brought with her, one she’s read before, but nevertheless chooses to peruse over again. A familiar book in an unfamiliar place, reading keeps her grounded, and distracted.

Michael doesn’t hear the sound of the shower turning off in the other room adjoining the bedroom, despite the loud creaking of the old faucet and Philippa’s splashing footsteps. So engrossed in her book, she is nearly startled when Philippa, wrapped in a towel, enters her peripheral vision and walks toward her.

Philippa’s forgotten something on the end table by the couch, and when she stops and leans over with one hand to reach for it, she places the other, warm and soft, onto Michael’s shoulder. Her hand moves from her shoulder blade across the back of her neck and the protuberance of her spine, gentle fingertips ghosting delicate lines across Michael’s skin, before abruptly disappearing. It’s a fleeting touch, but the hairs on Michael’s arms and neck stand at end and a breath becomes caught in her throat, and the heat from the fireplace seems hotter than before.

Making her way back toward the bedroom, Philippa pushes the door closed behind her, but unwittingly leaves it slightly ajar. Michael, her mind gone somewhat dull from having read the same sentence in her book more times than she’d care to admit, chances a glimpse through the gap and into the bedroom. She sees Philippa’s slender arms swing about as she dries herself off with a towel, her toned back when she turns and reaches for clean clothes, and her bare side when she gracefully puts them on.

Shifting her eyes away, Michael feels a heat growing in her cheeks when Philippa calls out to her from the bedroom, “Are you sure you want to sleep on the couch? The bed is perfectly large for the both of us, and I don’t mind if we share.”

As if in panic, Michael responds a bit too quickly and a bit too loudly, “Yes, I’ll be quite alright out here.” Calming herself, she closes her eyes and quietly adds, “But thank you.”

 

—

 

After breakfast, Philippa wanders around the cabin, looking for things to clean, fix or put away. Though they’ll only be staying here for two more nights, she can’t help but feel responsible for the property’s upkeep.

She stumbles across the book Michael had been reading the night before on the end table by the couch. Gently picking it up, Philippa recognizes the book immediately, as one she had given to Michael sometime during her first year as an officer on the _Shenzhou_. Philippa takes a moment to appreciate the gilded cover and carefully opens it to a bookmarked page, eyes drawn to a marked passage.

Philippa sets the book down where she’d found it, pulling on a coat before walking outside. The mountain air is brisk and invigorating, and she shuts her eyes, basking in the feel of the cool breeze against her face.

The sharp sound of an axe hitting a chopping block draws Philippa’s attention. Michael stands with the heavy tool in her hands, skillfully chopping firewood for the night. Dressed in a tight top, she sees the outline of Michael’s taut muscles as she swings the axe over her head, her stare fixated on the smooth movement of her body.

Philippa feels her heart rate increasing, but doesn’t pay it any mind. Moving closer, her long tied hair flowing softly against the breeze, she asks aloud, “Need any help with that?”

The axe comes down forcefully, becoming lodged in the block. Struggling a bit, knuckles turning white as she strains her grip over the handle and tugs, Michael exasperatingly replies, “I don’t need your help.”

Taken aback by her words, Philippa takes a cautious step back, brings her hands up in feigned surrender. “Alright, fine. Forget I asked.”

Michael freezes, just then realizing what she’d said and how she’d said it. “I…” Turning toward Philippa, Michael drops the axe to the ground and takes in a shaky breath. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, I shouldn’t have bothered you.” Philippa turns to leave, closing her arms around herself and suddenly feeling achingly cold.

Keeling forward, Michael reaches out and seizes Philippa’s bicep, stopping her. “Please.” When she turns around, Michael’s eyes are impossibly round and pleading, the hand around her arm growing gentle. “Stay.”

 

—

 

Michael finds Philippa by the stream not far from the cabin, waddling with bare feet through the shallow waters, her hair loose and draping over her shoulders. She has her hands folded behind her back, head tilted down as if deep in thought. Michael leans against a tree, choosing to observe her for just a little while longer.

Kicking a foot out and splashing the water in front of her, Philippa sighs, and moves toward the bank to sit on a patch of grass. She lies back against the ground, hands brought up behind her head, and closes her eyes. Watching from afar, Michael can only barely see the steady heaving of Philippa’s chest as she breathes in and out.

Walking toward the stream, deliberately rustling her movement so as not to startle, Michael stands over Philippa, looking down at her reclining form. Without opening her eyes, Philippa softly acknowledges her presence. “Michael.”

“I need to apologize for earlier.” Michael lowers herself to the ground, folding her legs and neatly resting her clasped hands in her lap. “I wasn’t feeling quite myself.”

Philippa pulls herself up into a sitting position, drawing her legs to her chest and tightly wrapping her arms around them. She looks to Michael, worry painted on her face as she resists the urge to reach out and comfort her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Averting Philippa’s gaze, Michael turns her head toward the stream, watching as the water ripples and flows, and listening to chirping crickets in the distance. She thinks for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, until deciding finally to answer, “Perhaps some other time.”

Michael’s voice is low and solemn, and this time Philippa can’t stop herself from responding. She reaches over and cups Michael’s cheek in her palm, her thumb rubbing gently over her skin. “Alright.” Philippa steadily rises to her feet, and so does Michael, lured by the tender hand on her face as it slowly moves up and away. “I should head back and start preparing dinner.”

“Let me help you,” Michael stipulates, standing face to face with Philippa.

Retrieving her shoes and socks, Philippa offers her a warm smile. “Of course.”

 

—

 

This night seems colder than last, prompting Philippa to toss an extra log into the fireplace. She sits on the couch wrapped in a blanket, her cold feet propped up on a stool facing the fire. “When I was young, I used to love playing in the water, and the cold never seemed to really bother me much,” she reminisces, though thinking out loud more so than speaking to Michael. Philippa wiggles her frozen toes. “But now I must be getting old.”

Michael steps out of the bathroom, fully clothed, but holding a towel to her wet hair. She rubs it dry, letting her hair become messy and tussled, yielding to the appearance of some of her natural coils.

“You look nice like that.” Philippa playfully teases, casually flinging an arm over the top of the couch and watching Michael move around the cabin. “With a little curl in your hair.”

Michael reaches into her luggage, but then hesitates. “I’ve had this hairstyle since I was a child. I’ve not considered changing it.”

Philippa moves from her seat, walking around and passed Michael toward the bedroom, a cheeky grin on her face that Michael doesn’t catch. “Well, I think it looks good.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Philippa pats her pillow, idly staring into the flickering flame of a candle lamp on the nightstand. Through the open bedroom door, she sees Michael pacing and tinkering on a PADD, and hears the quiet taps and beeps. She seems distracted, and tired.

“Am I going to have to order you this time?” Philippa eventually asks, tilting her head toward Michael and grabbing her attention, gesturing at the empty space on the bed.

Pausing, Michael is cautiously aware of her tone before replying. “As I’ve said before,” she looks up from her PADD, the light from the fireplace framing her face and her faint reassuring smile in a warm glow. “I’m fine on the couch.”

An uneasy silence fills the space between them, but the sight of Michael lit by firelight with her hair mussed has Philippa quietly pressing, “Michael, please.”

They look at each other, one insisting and the other resisting, but finally Michael relents, setting down her PADD and walking toward the bedroom with an audible sigh. Philippa’s face beams in triumph as she watches Michael move under the covers on the opposite side of the bed and feeling the dip in the mattress from her weight, and Philippa hears her say, “Goodnight, Captain.”

Blowing out the flame and setting the room dark, Philippa lies on her back, her feet still rather cold, listening to the muffled howl of wind beyond the cabin walls. “Goodnight, Number One.”

 

—

 


	2. Chapter 2

—

 

A slow moving fog rolls in toward late morning, becoming stagnant and densely opaque. The plan for an outdoor lunch is not abandoned when Philippa suggests eating out on the porch, staying close to the cabin.

“My grandparents first brought me here when I was little, after my parents had died. It’s different from where I grew up. Colder, isolated,” Philippa starts, as she sips her tea. “But since then, it’s become a place for me to think, reflect, maybe discover a little something about myself.” She can’t help but let out a small sigh. “I used to come here often.”

Michael listens to her with a quiet intensity, though she struggles not to stare.

Philippa swivels on her chair and leans her back against the cabin wall, her legs crossed. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here.”

The admission is surprising to Michael, who pauses briefly mid-bite of her sandwich. Philippa has been married, has had children, a family, and surely has had close friends and other partners. But none have ever been to Philippa’s quiet sanctuary, none but Michael.

“I’ve come to think of you as more than just my first officer, Michael. I want you to know that.” Thick fog invades Philippa’s vision as she peers out into the trees, into a distance that’s hazy and obscured, lost in thought or just perhaps unwilling to look elsewhere when she quietly professes.

Michael replies, her words plain and deliberate, “You are my captain. I would follow you anywhere, at your side.”

Philippa looks to Michael, with serious eyes and a sternness in her voice, “You should think about your own path.” She turns toward their small table, resting her arms on the surface, a warm teacup held between her hands.  “You can’t be my first officer forever.”  Or maybe what she really means is, _I might not be around forever_.

Abandoning the last bit of her sandwich, Michael takes a deep breath and recounts, “When I first joined Starfleet, I had the aspiration of becoming a captain, to have my own command, to really prove myself.” She looks passed Philippa, at something in the distance, just to avert her stare. “It’s been almost seven years since then, and along the way my ambitions have become… less clear.”

Philippa carefully considers her words. “This is your career, your life—”

“I know that,” Michaels defensively interrupts. She doesn’t mean to be curt, but the direction of this conversation leaves Michael tense and unsettled.

“I know you do.” Philippa’s voice is soft and calm.

A short time passes before either of them speaks again. They avoid each other’s gaze, preoccupied with their own thoughts, until Michael breaks the silence and asks, “Why did you bring me here?”

Philippa looks down at the empty cup, now cold in her hands, at the random pattern of drying tea leaves, and sighs. “I’m not so sure.”

 

—

 

The fog is thick and the air humid, and they’ve gone their separate ways after lunch. Philippa tends to crops growing by the cabin, sleeves rolled up and hair tied into a messy bun. Arms crossed, Michael watches her for a moment, as she’s on her knees working, hands deep in soil, concentrating on her task with a heavy brow. She’s discontent and distracting herself. That much Michael is certain.

Michael leaves with a sore ache in her chest and her hands just barely trembling, and it’s not because they’re cold. She’s unnerved, and it’s a feeling she despises and can’t easily shake away, like a problem she just can’t seem to solve.

She finds a quiet place to lay down a small mat and meditate in peace. Michael sits with her legs folded and she focuses on her breathing, in and out, in and out, reciting in her mind an ancient mantra, but the fast pounding of her heart doesn’t cease and it fills her head with a steady, anxious rhythm. She needs to move.

Rising to her feet, Michael begins cycling through her _suus mahna_ forms, balancing her movements with a precision and expertise of a well-trained practitioner. But she can feel it in her muscles that she’s stiff and technical in her presentation, and she bears her mind down on smoothing her motions toward a loose and easy flow.

It’s late afternoon when Philippa begins searching for Michael. She finds her in the midst of exercising an advance form, and there’s a forcefulness, an almost anger, in her striking movements like she’s in an intense battle against an invisible enemy. Philippa observes her curiously, concerned or perhaps fascinated, and she cautiously approaches.

Philippa sees her closer now, her body coated in a sweaty sheen and panting heavily, and a spark of excitement kindles inside her. “Spar with me?”

Michael turns toward the eager voice, her eyes lit with an intensity, a stirred passion. “My pleasure.”

 

—

 

In this small clearing by the stream, the grass is still wet with dew, and the cold fog still dense and low. At arm’s length from one another, Michael and Philippa both enter guard stance, standing at equal height.

Circling each other with mirrored movements, Philippa comes forward, striking high and blocking low. Michael deflects Philippa’s incoming fist with one arm and attacks with the other. They trade blow for blow and block for block, until Philippa notices an imbalance in Michael’s posture, exploiting it with a swift sweeping kick to the back of her knee, forcing Michael to the ground.

Philippa offers her hand to Michael who takes it and rises back onto her feet. Several more rounds of exchanging strikes and parries, and they’re both breathing hard and perspiring through their clothes.

Michael takes a few quick steps back, the thick mist masking her from Philippa’s view. She moves soundlessly through the grass, coming around behind Philippa with a surprise choke hold. Philippa brings a sharp elbow to her stomach, and Michael releases her grip, stumbling back. Pivoting around, Philippa brings a leg up high and across for a roundhouse kick, but Michael blocks it with both forearms. Michael takes hold of her leg, pulling Philippa closer only to strike her with a solid palm to her chest, knocking her down backward onto the ground.

The momentum of her own movements sends Michael falling forward and onto Philippa, eventually straddling her hips and leaning down on her arms at either side of Philippa’s head. Philippa throws her head back, letting out a loud, breathy laugh. Cool moisture from the grass soaks through her sweaty clothes, her hair disheveled and her body warm and skin sticky from exertion.

Coming down from her high, Philippa finds Michael looking down at her, a dark and unreadable expression on her face. Her pupils are dilated and her breathing low and heavy. Before Philippa can speak, Michael lunges forward, crushing their lips together and Philippa’s eyes grow wide in shock.

Michael brings her hands to Philippa’s face and lowers her body flush against hers. The kiss is sloppy and desperate, and Michael’s lips are hot, but inexperienced. Philippa closes her eyes, melting into the embrace, and she brings a hand up around the back of Michael’s neck, pulling her down closer and making her gasp. With Michael’s mouth parted, Philippa kisses back, thirstily pushing her tongue into her mouth, her free hand planted at Michael’s waist, caressing the skin underneath her shirt.

Pulling back suddenly, horror written on her face, Michael looks down at Philippa and her kiss-reddened lips. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” Michael pushes up against the ground and scrambles to her feet, staggering back and hastily turning away, barely whispering under her breath, “I’m sorry.”

 

—

 

Night has fallen when Philippa returns to the cabin, with Michael nowhere to be found. Philippa sheds her clothes and steps into the shower, letting hot water pour over her as she leans her head against the tiled wall. She’s exhausted, and aching, and unnervingly uncertain, her lips still heated from Michael’s searing kiss. Heading straight to bed, Philippa falls fast asleep the moment her head touches the pillow, her running thoughts becoming running dreams.

Michael returns from her solitary walk cold and shivering, her coat doing little to maintain her fleeting body heat. She sees smoke escaping the chimney and flickering candle light through the cabin windows, and Michael knows Philippa is still awake. Bracing against the cold with arms wrapped around herself, Michael sits on the steps of the porch, staring out into the darkness, her mind racing.

She recalls what had happened earlier, her lapse in control and the boundary she had crossed. It’s in her nature to analyze a situation, to scrutinize over details, and to determine its cause and effects, and Michael finds herself doing just that.

Sparring with Philippa had become a routine over the years, one that Michael enjoyed and very often looked forward to. But this time had been different, something changed. Michael remembers the closeness of their bodies, the nearness of hands and faces, and the smell of sweat and the feel of it hot and viscid on her skin. Philippa lying on the ground, head flung back in a fit of laughter, slick hair clinging to her face. Far from civilization and from ships and from duty, hidden away by fog and trees, quiet isolation, cool air and warm skin. Michael accounts for all of these factors, but in the end realizes that this course of thinking is futile.

When the light in the cabin grows dim, Michael gets up and quietly opens the door. She sits by the fireplace for a moment, relishing in its heat before stripping off her coat. The bedroom is dark, the door slightly open and she ventures through.

Subdued moonlight streams in through a gap in the curtains, thinly illuminating Philippa’s sleeping face. Her resting features are soft and fragile and her hair spread out in dark waves over her pillow. Michael is suspended at the sight, a sensation of tightness expanding in her chest and to her throat, and she becomes fully cognizant of the deep-seated and drowning feeling she holds for her captain, one long stifled and repressed for fear of impropriety and rejection.

What Michael had never considered, a notion simply cast aside for its improbability, but now an unknown factor in this ever complicated equation – Philippa’s reciprocity.

Michael silently maneuvers to her side of the bed and cautiously slips under the covers. Feeling cold and uneasy, she curls onto her side, keeping close to the edge of the bed, and shuts her tired eyes.

 

—

 

A beam of daylight through the window falls upon Philippa’s shut eyes, slowly jarring her awake. She’s lying on her side feeling thoroughly comfortable and warm when a panic rises up inside her. Careful, yet urgent, Philippa turns around to lie on her back, her neck craning farther, until she sees Michael sleeping on the other side of the bed, facing away from her.

Relief washes through her and Philippa sinks into the sheets, content that Michael is alright and lying beside her. She hums softly, absentmindedly, savoring the quiet calm of early morning and slowly dozing off, when Michael shifts in her sleep, turning to face Philippa, eyes still shut.

Philippa moves onto her side, her gaze fixated on the woman in front of her and what sees leaves her breathless. In sleep, her hair adorably mussed, Michael appears peaceful, her face free from makeup and the ever-present Vulcan tensity. Her lips a bright pink, soft and full, Philippa thinks back to the feel of them against her own, and a heat grows between her legs.

Philippa is unable to resist reaching out and brushing away a rogue strand of hair from Michael’s brow, the very tips of her fingers tracing down the side of her face. Stirring at the contact, her eyes flutter open.

Breathing in deep, eyes adjusting to the shine of daylight, Michael lazily wakes. At first sight of Philippa through groggy vision, her face merely inches away and her fingers delicately touching her face, Michael flinches and tries to pull back, gasping quietly, “Philippa…”

“Shhh….” Philippa’s hand move down to cover her lips, a light press of soft fingertips that leaves Michael both speechless and out of breath. “It’s okay.”

Michael’s voice is hardly a whisper, slightly quivering and low. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Philippa’s looks into Michael’s eyes, seeing a sheen of moisture threatening to burst into full-fledged tears, but Philippa holds her gaze, laying both of her hands on either side of her face and leaning in close. “Is this how you really feel?”

The hands on her cheeks are firm, holding her steady when all Michael wants is to look away and shut her eyes tight. Philippa stares her down, like a polar magnet forcing her eyes open, and coercing them to focus and to see, until tears begin to fall and her eyes are devastated, and Michael painfully chokes out, “Yes.”

It’s all she needs to hear. Philippa runs the pad of her thumb across Michael’s lower lip, marking her target, before tactfully bringing her face closer and closing the space between them.

Philippa’s lips are gentle and tender, pressing chastely to Michael’s mouth before moving up to kiss away the wet trails running down from her eyes. Her hands continue to work, caressing and soothing the sides of her face and neck, until Michael’s whimpers fall silent and still.

Pulling back just slightly, Michael’s eyes are large and hopeful, but tentative. “Do you… also feel…?”

Rolling her eyes, Philippa lets loose an amused huff. The confusion on Michael’s face is brief and then disappears entirely when Philippa pushes her back onto the bed, swiftly rolling on top of her and pressing her down into the mattress with the comfortable weight of her body. She has barely time to blink before her lips are caught against Philippa’s in a firm and heady lock. “Does this answer your question?"

With a look of epiphany on her face that has Philippa grinning from ear to ear, Michael’s voice barely registers above an awe of a whisper, “I suppose it does.”

 

—

 

The sky is clear and the air moves with the lightest of breezes and the rising sun slowly sets the bedroom aglow.

Philippa holds Michael beneath her, kissing her lips softly before trailing down her jaw and neck. A breath held still when she threads shaky fingers through Philippa’s long hair, Michael relishes the soft feel of it and the smell of its light floral scent as it tickles her nose.

A lavishing lick down her neck has Michael’s heart pounding, and she moans, a low rumble in her throat that Philippa feels against her lips and she smiles. “I… I should shower. I must smell terrible,” Michael breathily stutters as she tilts her head to the side instinctively, allowing Philippa better access to her neck.

Breathing in the deep musk of her, Philippa feels the heat rising inside her belly as she laps at the hollow of Michael’s clavicle. “I think you smell fine. Quite alluring, actually.”

“Philippa…” Michael breathes heavily, her body and face flushing, and a nervous shudder runs down her spine at the faint feel of Philippa’s teeth grazing against her skin. Placing a gentle hand on Philippa’s shoulder, Michael tries to pull away. “Philippa.”

She looks up at her, hesitation painted plainly in her bright eyes. Philippa understands immediately, dropping her face into the crook of Michael’s neck, her lips hungry for more, but now fallen still. She pushes herself off Michael, flopping heavily onto her back as a deep sigh escapes from low in her throat. “I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself.” She mutters again, “I’m sorry.”

Philippa closes her eyes, calming herself, when she feels warm lips pressed ever so lightly to her own, a promise whispered to her. “I won’t be long.”

 

—

 

Michael leans her full weight on both hands pushed against the shower wall, cold water subduing her frayed nerves as she breathes in deep and steady. The lasting sensation of Philippa’s warm body and practiced mouth against her leaves Michael enervated and anxious, and with a profound and disquieting ache between her legs. It takes her much longer than she’d prefer to regain her composure.  

Philippa has breakfast ready and waiting when Michael steps out of the bathroom, who feels only slightly better than she did before. They dine in relative silence, both struggling to maintain eye contact and casual conversation. The choir of chirping birds and the light bustle of wind just beyond the cabin lend to the perception of serenity, yet neither can feel it. For them, the air is thick.

Attempting again to meditate, Michael seats herself at the top of the porch stairs, shaded from the sun, yet still able to bask in the day’s light.

Philippa gives her space, busying herself with the preparation of returning to the _Shenzhou_ , her attention fixated on various reports and readings. It takes every ounce of strength within her to keep her eyes away from Michael, and to keep from thinking of her.

At noon, left with little choice, Philippa approaches Michael calmly, placing a hand over her shoulder. “Please, come eat.”

 

—

 

Philippa comes up behind Michael, bringing her hand to her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze, Philippa watches her reaction carefully. A shy smile appears on her face, her eyes bright, and Philippa smiles back. “Let’s take a walk.”

Their bags are packed with everything they’d brought with them, at Philippa’s suggestion. A several hour’s hike up a towering mountainside invigorates the both of them with the expenditure of pent up energy, sunlight shining down on their backs and brisk air livening their lungs. Michael follows Phillipa, curious of where they’re heading, breathlessly asking, “Where are we going?”

“I have something to show you,” Philippa replies, a playfulness in her tone that easily dissipates the tension. “Something special.”

It’s passed 1600 hours when they stop to rest, surrounded by a forest of trees. Sitting on a fallen log, Michael brings her legs up beneath her and studies her surroundings, listening to the quiet rustle of wildlife and watching Philippa as she munches on a snack. Before long, they resume their trek, going higher and deeper into the wilderness.

The sky grows darker when they reach their destination, a cutout ledge off the high side of the mountain, not quite a cave, yet still a cozy and secluded alcove. Michael drops her bags, staring out at the sight before her, a vast sea of trees, the peaks of rocky hills floating above the green canopy like icebergs in an ocean. The evening light sends long, deep shadows off the summits and against the stratum of elaborate foliage, forges an idyllic contrast of varying brightness and saturation. “This is beautiful.”

Philippa stands beside her, grasping Michael’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Michael tenses at the contact, but swiftly relaxes and gently squeezes back. Looking at the younger woman, as the setting sun strikes against her features, a radiance growing in her eyes, and a confidence on her face reemerging as firm and unwavering as their hands held together, Philippa says, “It is.”

Pulling at her hand, Philippa walks Michael back toward the rockface, so they can set up camp, a nested tent that fits perfectly into the mountain recess, as if fortuitously designed so. They sit together near the campfire at the base of their tent as night begins to fall, side by side and arms barely brushing, looking far out and away toward the stars.

Philippa reaches up to point out various constellations and celestial bodies, her extensive and passionate knowledge in this field filling the already overflowing coffer of admiration Michael has for this woman. The air between them eases as the sky above them falls black and the stars shine brighter in the void.

Michael is lost in thought, filled with wonder as she thinks of where she is and with whom, when she feels an arm slip around her shoulders and pulling her close. Responsively, she rests her head on Philippa’s shoulder, like it’s the most natural thing for her to do, taking a last glance at the trinary stars of her home system, before tucking her face into the crook of her neck.

With Philippa laying her head atop Michael’s, her waist encased by her arms, they stay like this for a while, eyes closed and unaware of the storm clouds rolling in and covering the night sky. A hot breath at her neck sends Philippa’s thoughts racing, and a warm hand caressing the skin at her lower back has Michael herself pulling closer, and they hold on to each other tight.

A sudden crackling of thunder and a downpour of rain jostles them both out of their comforting embrace, the sounds of harsh splattering against rock and the sizzling smoke of the smothered fire are unrivaled by Michael’s audible annoyance and Philippa’s laughter, as they scramble over each other and into the tent.

Dripping wet, Michael seals the tent closed, securing them from the rain, and she looks down at herself, endorphins surging through her bloodstream, her hands trembling.

Turning, she sees Philippa seated at the center of the tent, brushing her hand through her wet hair and wringing it out, amusement still pictured on her face. And Michael crawls to her, slowly and deliberately, the faint lamplight masking the wide dark of her pupils, until she’s face to face with Philippa, and their eyes lock.

Quiet and still, Philippa waits, seeing the familiar passion in Michael’s eyes, and her heart starts pounding fast. Her breathing is leaden and hot, and Michael can feel it as she moves closer. Hovering just centimeters away, eyelids heavy and mouth parting, Michael whispers against Philippa’s lips, “I want you.”

 

—

 

Rain pours down the mountainside and sputters across the tent’s exterior, and inside, the air grows heated.  Breaths linger, and Philippa moves just slightly so their faces are level, and she challenges, “Show me.”

Leaning forward, Michael seizes Philippa’s lips in a fierce kiss, hands at her face and neck, pulling her closer. Their lips vie against each other, hot and moist and consumed by a deep fervor, as Philippa pushes Michael down to the padded tent floor, bringing their bodies flush together.

Michael revels in the full body contact, so warm and enveloping, so extremely sensual, that her eyes flutter shut and her mind ceases to function. Her hands drop down to grip Philippa by the waist, a light hold that’s measured and careful, fingertips barely stroking at the exposed skin beyond her shirt, hesitating. But she tightens her grasp, quickly moving passed her doubt, keeping Philippa above her.

Adept hands slide down her body, caressing the skin at her neck and the curves of her sides and waist, wet from the rain. She repositions herself to straddle Michael’s hips, leaning in once more to kiss her, licking and nibbling at her lips until her mouth parts open. Gasping as her eager tongue passes into Michael’s mouth, Philippa breathes hot against her as their tongues dance.

Michael moves her lips and tongue against Philippa’s, exploring and studying, running her teeth against her bottom lip as Philippa moans softly and Michael grins with satisfaction.

Philippa brings her hands beneath Michael’s top, feeling the taut skin of her stomach and kneading the soft mounds of her breasts, and she begins trailing her kisses down her jaw and neck, licking and peppering her skin with wet lips. Her mouth relaxes to a light, breathy creep along her skin as she reaches for Michael’s hands, guiding them up slowly over her head before moving to push her top off and leaving her bare.

Straightening up, Philippa looks down at the woman below her, admiring, and Michael blushes, turning her head to the side and exposing her neck invitingly. Philippa dives her mouth down against her throat like predator on prey, hungrily lapping at the supple skin beneath her chin down to her chest and halts at her breast, kissing the top of it gingerly, before wrapping her tongue around her nipple and sucking.

Back arching off the floor and her breath quickening, Michael quietly moans when Philippa nips lightly at her nipple, before moving slowly back up to kiss her again, gentle and careful and loving. But Philippa’s knee comes up to press between her legs hard, and Michael pulls in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, grinding down desperately to increase the pressure.

The hard blunt of Philippa’s knee is replaced by a limber palm cupping her center, proficient fingers stroking slowly across the outer layer of her pants while Michael whines against her mouth. Philippa smiles, playfully biting at Michael’s lower lip as she presses her hand harder against her core, and asks, “Do you want me to stop?”

With a low and needy groan, Michael brings a hand up behind Philippa’s neck, tangling her fingers into her hair and pulling her face down and close. “Never.”

 

—

 

When the storm dies down and the world is dark and quiet before sunrise, Philippa’s eyes stutter open. A warm body is pressed to her back, an arm slung protectively around her waist and her legs are entwined with another’s, soft and smooth against her own.

Michael nestles closer, face buried into her hair, and when Philippa carefully tries to turn around and face her, Michael holds her securely in place, mumbling a weak protest against the back of her neck. Ceasing her attempt to turn around, a soft chuckle escapes Philippa’s lips, “Good morning to you too.”

Though barely awake, Michael manages to mumble more coherently this time, breathing in Philippa’s scent as it nearly lulls her back to sleep, “Perhaps we could stay like this… forever.”

The arm at her waist grows tighter, and the face in her hair buries deeper, and when the pelvis pressed against her naked bottom moves seductively closer, Philippa lets out a thirsty, amused hum. “Not exactly logical now, is it?"

Considering her words, Michael brings her lips to press against the delicate base of Philippa’s neck. “Love is not logical.”

At that admission, in none so many words, that Michael loves her, Philippa blurts out in a light huff of laughter, “No, it’s not.” Her chest swells and her eyes become blurry and moist, and she reaches for the hand around her waist and knits their fingers together before bringing Michael’s palm to her smiling lips. “It absolutely isn’t.”

 

—

 

Michael's book, her marked passage:

 _“A good traveler has no fixed plans_ _and is not intent upon arriving._ _A good artist lets his intuition_   _lead him wherever it wants._ _A good scientist has freed himself of concepts_   _and keeps his mind open to what is.” —_ _Laozi, Tao Te Ching_

**Author's Note:**

> —
> 
> Credit goes to Tumblr user [_**suika28**_](https://suika28.tumblr.com/) whose art has inspired several scenes in this piece.


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